


and love, you taste like magic

by MercuryM



Series: Soulmate AUs [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment she was sure she was seeing lightning marks, <em>her</em> lightning marks, but then the sunlight hit his arm just at the right angle and the black ink glinted under her fingers. </p><p>But tattoos weren’t real soulmarks, no matter how much she wished them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and love, you taste like magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [troubledpancakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/gifts).



> this is for my babe, Katelyn, who has had hard couple of days and needs all the cheering she could get (go send her good vibes!). originally, this was supposed to be explicit shameless smut, but uh, instead it turned into this word building, carefully veiled lovemaking, with a lots of feelings and some angst soulmates thingy. idk. i have no explanation how it came to be. forgive me. thanks to my cutie [keywordlydia](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com/) for looking it over for me!
> 
>  
> 
> **I absolutely refuse to have my story hosted on wattpad, goodreads or any other site! Stop stealing people's work!**

Once upon a time Clarke used to love them, the lightning strikes running down her back. She knew every branch by heart, every curve going over her spine, every jagged line that set them all apart. She could trace them in her sleep, draw them with her eyes closed. She loved them so much that hating them almost broke her.

But she did - she hated them out of stubbornness, out of anger and resentment, out of loneliness and fear and countless nights spent crying.

A fitting soulmark for his daughter her father used to say - all consuming like a thunder storm, eternal and terrifying all at once. Kissed by the moon goddess her mother would remark - strong and proud and never broken.

The years passed and her soulmark stayed the same, untouched by time and utterly alone, a stark contrast against her skin. A soulmark without a soulmate.

And these days Clarke didn’t feel that way -- she was small and tired and out of hope.

She thought the lines to be beautiful before, unique, breathtaking, but all it took was a guy to call them weird and laugh and she couldn’t bear to look at them. He was her first lover, the first person to see her soul as naked as her skin, and his words cut so deep that her heart never stopped bleeding.

How cruel the skies could be to give her a soulmark that brought her so much misery.

But at the age of twenty-seven she had learned to live with it - the world was never just, but then again Clarke didn’t want it to be.

It was Tuesday and the bar was mostly empty, Clarke prefered it that way. Miller took one look at her and poured her a glass of whisky, leaving the bottle on top of the counter. She smiled and lifted her glass in thanks, swallowing the burning liquid between one breath and the next.

“Want to talk about it?” For all the years she knew him, this was the first time he lingered behind.

Clarke poured herself another glass and contemplated telling him how she had lost a young girl on the operation table today. Tris, thirteen, with a beautiful spiral soulmark on her collarbone. A soulmark that had turned pale grey when her heart had stopped for a third and final time.

But Tuesdays weren’t Miller’s shifts and she didn’t want to keep him here longer than necessary, not that she knew what he was doing at the bar in the first place.

“No.” The whisky burned stronger than the first time. “Same old bullshit.”

He wanted to protest - she could see it in the set of his shoulders and the narrowing of his eyes - but his gaze flicked over her shoulder and whatever he must have seen had him backing away.

“Call me if you need me.” He threw his towel next to the sink and reached over the bar to kiss her cheek. “Monty too, you know we’ll answer no matter what.”

Clarke nodded because it was expected of her and reached for the bottle again. She barely got a moment of peace when she was interrupted again.

“Rough night?” The unfamiliar voice behind her had her pausing for a moment before she filled her glass nearly to the brim.

“More or less.”

For some reason he seemed familiar even if Clarke didn’t frequent the bar all that often - curly, messy hair and sun-kissed skin, freckles sprinkled across his face like tiny stars and enhancing his dark brown eyes, which were sheltered by the blackest eyelashes she had ever seen. He was striking in a way, attractive with his broad shoulders and large hands, looking as if he could handle anything sent his way.

Clarke downed her third glass and he moved behind the bar. It was then that she placed his face - he was Miller’s partner, the elusive co-owner of the bar that was rarely in the nights Clarke came to drown her pain and sorrow with alcohol. His name, alas, had slipped her mind.

She went for a fourth one when he put his hand on the bottle and brought it back down. He didn’t even flinch at her glare when he exchanged her empty glass for one with water and lemon slices. Frowning, she leaned over the bar to reach for her whisky but he pulled it away with a tsking sound.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Her smile showed too much teeth to be considered friendly.

“I think I know my limits better than you do.”

He smirked and let his elbows rest on the bar. “Prove it to me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and got ready to get up and leave but the challenge in his gaze irked her and she sighed, mentally berating herself for not being able to ignore his words.

“You got something particular in mind?”

His grin was genuine and Clarke could swear that his eyes fucking  _sparkled_ under the low light of the bar. His amusement was too much and Clarke crossed her arms in front of her chest unwilling to admit defeat, huffing when he pushed the glass of water closer.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He was flirting, now she was sure of it, and despite the fact that Clarke had planned on a quiet night at home after some drinking, the possibility of spending it with him was tempting; she was sick of falling asleep in a cold bed.

That was how he learned that she was a cardiologist in the nearby hospital, surgeon to be exact. That she had a three-legged black cat named Lux and that the thai restaurant next door knew her order by heart. That if it wasn’t for her friend Wells she would have probably tried to live her life in the hospital, bloody scrubs and all. And that sketching was her way to put a stop on time.

In exchange, he told her that despite his degree in Classical Studies he worked as a fireman. An unfortunate fire few years back had taken his mother and had almost killed his sister and ever since he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Nowadays, he spent his time between shifts at the Fire Department and tending the bar on his off days. That, and helping set up exhibitions at the museum downtown. His sister, Octavia, was a walking fire-cracker, driving him crazy at every turn. But despite the words, he spoke fondly of her and Clarke could see the love in his eyes.  

Clarke regaled him with stories of the time she and Wells were eight and went dragon hunting, and he told her how Octavia had tried to convince him that they should raise a wolf cub.

He never mentioned his soulmark and Clarke never asked. Then again, she didn’t offer to tell him hers either; soulmates, she had decided, were not for her. 

The hours ticked by without her noticing - it was passing three in the morning when the last patron walked out of the door.

Talking to him was easy, he was dry humor and quick wit, his snark matching her sarcasm easily and without losing breath. It was the most fun she had had in ages and she was sad to see it end.

The night was chilly without being overly cold and Clarke moved closer to him, slipping her hand into his when he offered his palm.

“I live right around the block. Want to drop by?”

She didn’t even have to think about it; her lips crashing against his were an answer enough and he tugged her closer, enveloping her in his warmth as his hands settled on her back.

The walk to his apartment was a haze of stolen kisses, wandering hands and bumping shoulders. They spent few minutes necking in the elevator before they realised they hadn’t pushed the button for his floor.

Clarke was still laughing against his mouth when he unlocked the door and walked her backwards, caging her against the wall as he kicked the door shut.

“Hi.” She knew how she looked - blond hair sticking in all directions, cheeks rosy and lips bruised from his mouth; a complete mess, not that he was much better.

Yet, he looked at her as if she had just granted his secret wish, like she was something celestial and worth loving. Her words got caught in her throat and she blinked back tears; she was undeserving of such a look, of the reverence in his touch.

So she grasped his hair between her fingers and tugged until he hissed from the discomfort, and trailed open-mouthed kissed down his neck when his hands found naked skin.

It was easier to ignore the brightness in his eyes when her clothes started falling and his kisses burnt with renewed fervor, hands leaving angry red lines behind. They made it to his bed and she fell back, bouncing on the mattress and the heat in his eyes left her breathless, blood singing with want.

He crawled over her, mouth leaving marks behind on her neck and down her chest, blowing hot air against her nipples before gently nibbling on them with his teeth and making her arch her back. Then his mouth was on her clit and his fingers in her and time didn't matter as Clarke reached her peak with a shout.

Body shaking from his electric touch, she pulled him up and kissed him, uncaring that she was tasting her pleasure on his tongue.

Her hands fell from his hair and traced lines up his arms, smoothing over scars and brushing over ink. He leaned into her touch and cursed when she crossed her legs behind his back. He paused to get a condom on and then he slid right in, slowly, inch by inch, savouring her tightness and her heat.

The more Clarke tried to make him fuck her, the slower his thrusts became until she could no longer deny that he wasn’t having sex with her - he was making love to her - and the devotion in his burning eyes took down her walls like they were made out of paper.

She came again and he followed, hiding his groans against her sweaty neck.

Her body boneless with pleasure and mind adrift, she let him pull her back against his chest, strong arm around her waist and bedsheet engulfing them both. He kissed the top of her head and she fell asleep with a smile on her face, warm and sated, body aching in all the right places.

-

When the sun caressed her face, Clarke grumbled and burrowed further against the warmth at her back. As she moved, however, the hand across her waist tightened and her brain finally came online.

She was tingling pleasantly all over and the ache in her muscles was a welcomed change from the stiff mornings she usually had. The flashbacks from last night had her grinning and she was about to turn around and kiss her stranger - because she had yet to learn his name - good morning when the marks on his right arm, the one he had over her waist, caught her attention and her heart stuttered to a stop, before starting up again, beating so hard and fast she was certain he could hear it in his sleep.

For a moment she was sure she was seeing lightning marks,  _her_ lightning marks, but then the sunlight hit his arm just at the right angle and the black ink glinted under her fingers.

The disappointment was like acid in her mouth and she felt like throwing up. Her eyes burned as she slipped from his hold and her hands were trembling when she reached for her panties on the floor.

Because just for a second she had played with the notion that he might have been her soulmate and she had been  _happy_.

But tattoos weren’t real soulmarks, no matter how much she wished them to be.

Her cheeks were wet with her tears when she felt fingers gently tracing the lightning marks on her back. Clarke flinched and drew the sheet around her, hiding the soulmark from sight.

She had made a mistake by spending the night with him. False hope hurt more than no hope at all.

“They really are the same.” The way he said the words - all choked up, disbelief and tentative joy shining through - had her turning around and her wet blue eyes met his equally shiny ones.

His outstretched hand was shaking and he had this expression of wonder, staring at his fingers as if he had touched something holy. Clarke shifted to sit more comfortably on the bed and his gaze zeroed on her, hitting her with all the burning intensity and determination it carried.

Prompted by her silence, he ruffled his hair nervously and dropped his hand in his lap, completely unperturbed by his naked state, and started talking, voice tight with emotion. “Five years ago, when the fire happened, I couldn’t save my mom but I reached Octavia in time. I got her out safely but my arm took the brunt of the flames.” He rolled his shoulders as if chasing away phantom flames and Clarke’s eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his right shoulder - she had a feeling she knew where he was going with this and the possibility left her shaking.

The inked lightning marks started from the top of his shoulder and continued downwards, curling around his biceps and ending shortly below his elbow, covering what she now knew were scars from a fire long past. She itched to feel them under her hands again, to pay them the proper love and care they deserved.

“The damage was pretty bad. They had to regrow some of my skin back and I… lost my soulmark in the process.” There was so much pain twisting his features that Clarke had to try and relieve some of it, even if just for a moment.

He tensed under her touch but stayed perfectly still and let her explore his arm in detail, only frowning when instead of tracing the soulmark her fingers ghosted over the scars left from the fire.

Clarke took her time, adamant to lavish the scars with as much tenderness as she capable of, mentally cursing herself for being so lost in lust last night to have skimmed over them with nothing more than passing curiosity. Only then did she pay attention to the ink lines. They really were a perfect replica of the lightning marks on her back, every single branch, every line was done with precision and skill that rivaled the soulmark on Clarke’s back.

As if reading her thoughts, his fingers joined hers and he chuckled. “My tattoo artist was ready to murder me by the end of it. I drove him mad until he got them perfect, until every little lightning was just  _right_.”

The blood was rushing into her ears and she laid a kiss on his biceps, unable to put her thoughts and feelings into words.

His left hand tipped her head up and he smiled softly. “I was planning on taking you out for a coffee, you know, maybe dinner. But you...you were more incredible than I could ever dream of and resisting your pull was impossible.”

His admission left her reeling. “You  _knew_.”

He nodded, guilty of the accusation, and his curls bounced slightly. “Miller saw my tattoo a while ago and told me. But I rarely saw you at the bar when I had shifts there and I didn’t know how to approach you otherwise.”

“Telling me would have been a good start.”

“I was damaged goods, Clarke, still am.”

Her glare had him looking away. “That’s bullshit and you know it. This right here,” her hands rested on his right arm, “is beautiful, you’re beautiful.”

“I think you mean yourself, princess.” He chuckled and tugged the sheet off her body, palms coming to rest on her back, wonderfully warm against her naked skin. “You took my breath away, and to think that you’re mine, that you  _want me_ …”

She kissed him then, lost for words and needing to share somehow her newfound bliss.

“You got a name or should I keep calling you my other half in my head?”

His body shook with his laughter. “I like that.” He stole another kiss from her lips and pulled her down to lay with him on the bed. “I’m Bellamy, Bellamy Blake, your soulmate.”

Clarke rolled them over and swung a leg over his hips, caging him under her.

“ _Good._ ”

Bellamy kissed the self-satisfied smirk off her face.

Later, as he was trailing fingers over her soulmark and Clarke was admiring his, she couldn’t help but be glad to be blessed by the moon goddess.

They were both like lightnings after all - burning brightly, fiercely, strongly, unique with every flash. And much like lightnings, they always came in pair.

-

 _and love, you taste like magic,_  
_and you stayed in my arms_  
_even as the sun kissed the sky hello;_  
_and then I knew -_  
_you were the lightning strike_  
_that got my heart to beat anew._

**Author's Note:**

> [original post on tumblr](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/122537572601/and-love-you-taste-like-magic). that little poem thingy at the end is actually [mine](http://furiosaclarke.tumblr.com/post/122527899836/our-love-is-a-dying-star-hurling-through-the). comments are much appreciated!
> 
> \- M.


End file.
